


My Protector

by orphan_account



Series: We're Family [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gotham, Comfort Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, George Washington is a Dad, Mentioned Aaron Burr, Mentioned Frances Laurens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He could still remember it. The blood, the screaming, a voice calling his name. Another voice telling him not to go.He went.





	My Protector

He could still remember it. The blood, the screaming, a voice calling his name. Another voice telling him not to go.

He went.

Stop, don't, this is what he wants, he wants you, he wants to hurt you, he's trying to bait you.

John stepped forward, called toward that unfamiliar voice, nails on chalkboard, yelling his name. A knife to George's throat. Latched onto his guardian the second he was close only to show he had a weapon instead. Possibly gave him those important seconds to defend himself when all hell broke lose. Almost lost George again, almost lost _himself_ -

* * *

 

John started awake, hands shaking, breath caught in his throat, caught on a cry that so desperately wanted out. He stayed silent, whimpered, looked around his dark room. So, so dark. So cold. Why was he so cold? He was shivering, trembling, felt an itch on his face and scratched only to find his fingers come back wet. Blood _blood **blood**_ \- no. Not blood. No red, not sticky, no pain, no injuries. Tears. Liquid. Salty, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. A soft sob made it past his lips as he looked around rapidly again. Tried to get out of his bed and thrashed when he found himself tangled up in the blankets.

A soft thud and there he was on the ground on his stomach, breathing heavily. Couldn't breathe. Weight on his chest. Wait, was it because he was laying on his stomach?

He squirmed onto his feet, heaved for breath for a moment. It was difficult, still shaking like a leaf, covered in sweat, mind running wild. What to do, where to go? Can't stay in the room. Shaking, scared, alone. Cold, tired, so, so tired. So he darted from the room, breath heavy, shaking more heavily the longer he was alone, twitchy, so, so alone.

Frances, Aaron? No. It was so late, they were both likely asleep. He couldn't bother his big sister and her fiance. He felt an ache in his heart at just the thought of bothering them at such a late hour. He could speak to them at a more reasonable hour.

Lafayette, Hercules? No. Too late. Likely awake, likely working hard taking care of criminals and the hectic streets they all lived on. He couldn't call them either, even as he so desperately wanted to. Some assurance from the very officers that saved them that they were safe.

That left one option, and John bolted toward his guardian's room. The person who could do it all. Assure safety, promised he'd keep him safe. Knew he'd assure him they were safe, prove the nightmare was just that - a nightmare. A memory of the past that isn't such a thing anymore. Not the present. They're home. They're safe. Safe. _Safesafesafe_ -

The door was opened softly despite the speed he ran to the room, tiptoed over to the side of George's bed and peered at his sleeping face. Clearly tired, sometimes stayed up later than he should, beat up from the fights, from everything done to protect John and his life. To keep him safe, keep him loved, cared for, to keep him _growing_.

It was easy to go to the other side and climb into bed, to curl under the blankets on the opposite side of the bed, still shivery, tears still dripping much more slowly. Slowed further as he laid in silence, listened to the soft breathing of his guardian, the warm, soft sheets and blankets under and over him. It was only ten minutes or so of laying there in silence, of listening to the stifling silence, before John said softly, "George?"

It took a moment, silence taking over once again, the word all too loud in the silent, dark room. A shifting, John staring at the ceiling, unmoving. Then that oh so familiar voice whispering, "What are you doing up, John?"

Finally, he found his head dropping to the side, few tears sliding a trail down his face and nose as his eyes, adjusted to the darkness, found the sleepy, concerned look of his guardian, of George. "I had a bad dream." John breathed back, hesitated before asking, "Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?" The silence following the question was unnerving, but he didn't panic, he didn't cry more, he didn't feel that weight on his chest. He waited in silence and his reward was George shifting closer, tugging the twelve year old close to his chest and just holding him as he murmured, "Of course you can."

It was nicer. Warmer, safer, to curl up against him, to wrap his arms around him. But as easy as that was, as safe and warm, it also brought on the tears John couldn't hold back and a sob escaped him against the other's night shirt, hands clenching tight into the fabric. He luckily didn't seem to mind much, however, George simply held John closer, rubbed his back, hushed him softly as the boy sobbed, let his tears out. Who knew how long it was, of John trembling with little sobs and gasps, of George holding him there and gently tucking the blanket around him, kept him warm and safe as he cried before the boy spoke again, retold the dream, the memory, the fear and panic and worry.

And of course, as he always did, George, that beacon of love and care and safety, promised him it was over, promised him he was completely and entirely safe, that George would continue to keep him safe. That George himself was completely safe. That it was _over_.

They fell asleep like that, curled up tight and clinging, both reassuring each other it was over by then. They were safe. They were home. No one with guns, no one with knives, no threats on their lives. They'd been saved. That was what mattered. Lafayette, Hercules, their whole team saved them and they were so, so grateful.

 The next day, John by himself went to see Lafayette and Hercules. Strolled right into the precinct and softly asked someone nearby to get him Lafayette and Hercules if they were free, he needed to speak to them. If not, he could wait. As well known as John Laurens was, the rich boy who didn't die, who nearly died at a charity event, he did wait. They were respectful and kind about it, and John sat in a chair and waited. Lafayette was the first one free, and they were so calm, so slow as they crouched down in front of him, that sweet smile on their face and softly asked why he was there, what was going on.

And John just smiled. Reached forward and pulled them into a hug, a soft, happy noise escaping him as he squeezed them gently, looked so happy as he felt those arms around him, squeezing him close and patting his back. He just softly whispered that he was glad they were okay, that they were all okay, so calm, so _s a f e_. That word kept coming back up, over and over. _Safe, safe, safe_. When Hercules came out, John found himself squished between both of them, arms around him, assurances they were safe, they were fine.

It took fifteen minutes before John released them, had them get permission first before going back to the Laurens Manor. That afternoon, all four of them had tea and snacks together, simply spent time with quiet, flowing conversation, time to breathe, to be together, to really... Accept they were alive and okay.

That they were _safe_.


End file.
